Wild Hawk (27 page)

She moaned softly, but the sound broke off when he moved again, reaching to take her hand and pull it gently downward. He placed her palm over the swell of his erection, holding it there for a moment. The low, hoarse sound of pleasure he made at even this slight touch from her, even guided by him, thrilled her. Somewhat hesitantly, she flexed her hand in a tentative caress.

“Yesss.”

He seemed to breathe it against her ear, sending another shiver along nerves that were newly alive, nerves that she hadn’t known could feel so intensely. She flexed her hand again, and he moved against her, shifting his hips so that the pressure was stronger. Then he slid his hands around her back and pulled her against him again. She continued her caress of his rigid flesh, savoring each movement that told her he liked what she was doing, each low sound that sent those little frissons of heat through her.

She felt his hands move again, this time to pluck at the buttons of her blouse. The delicate silk seemed to float away, baring the swell of her breasts above her pale blue bra. She heard him take in a quick, harsh breath, then his hands slipped up and over her shoulders, skimming the blouse away easily. He was good at this, she thought dimly, wondering why it didn’t bother her to know that. His hands slid down her back to the catch of her bra, and he had it undone in moments. Her simple blue cotton bra fell away before she really had time to feel shy about her lack of sexy lace and satin underwear.

“Peach,” he murmured, low and husky, staring at her breasts as if he’d uncovered an unexpected treasure. “They are peach.”

She had no idea what he meant, and didn’t have time to think about it; his hands came up to cup her breasts, his palms cradling her, his thumbs slipping up to rub her nipples into tight, tingling awareness. She moaned at the tiny darts of fire that leapt straight to that place low and deep within her that seemed to awaken only for this man.

Yes, he was very good at this. But it still didn’t bother her. And now she knew why. Nothing like that mattered, not now, not when she could make him groan with a mere increase in the pressure of her hand, not when her hand slipped a little lower to cup him somewhat uncertainly and he gasped aloud with pleasure.

I wanted you to unzip me . . . I was so hard, just from kissing you, and I wanted your hands on me so badly . . .

Those hot, erotic words, which he’d spoken in that husky voice that sent ripples of heat through her, echoed in her mind now. Her gaze flew to his face, and she nearly gasped; he was looking at her, lips parted, his eyes hot and intense, as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. And then, when he spoke, she knew he did know.

“Do it,” he said in a voice so ragged the sharpness of the command was negated utterly. “God, do it.”

She felt herself tremble, but she couldn’t resist the urgency of his plea. Not when she’d been living with the images he’d planted, the need that had grown from them, for what seemed like forever now. She fumbled with the tab of his zipper, unable to make her hands obey. She tugged, then tugged again, and at last the fastener seemed to give way easily, seemingly driven by the insistent swell of his flesh behind it.

He let out a small breath, as if at the release of pressure. She glanced up at him. His eyes were closed, his face taut with a look of anticipation. His hands, still at her breasts, shook. But he didn’t move, didn’t even look at her. She wondered if he was somehow afraid if he did she would stop.

Her gaze lowered, to the sight of his hands cradling her breasts, his fingers tan and strong against the pale, soft veined curves, his thumbs resting atop her tight, aching nipples. She wanted him to resume that rubbing caress more than she’d ever wanted anything. And then she knew why his face had that strained, wanting look. And knew that she wanted to touch him as much as he wanted her to.

She hadn’t had much practice at this, and wasn’t nearly as efficient with his clothing as he had been with hers, but he didn’t seem to care. And when at last he was free of interfering cloth, when the hot, satin-smooth column of rigid flesh was in her hands, she heard his breath leave him in a throttled groan.

“Ah, God . . .”

She touched him, curiously, and with more than a touch of awe at the solid, hard smoothness. She traced his length with a delicate, questing touch, outlining with her fingers what her eyes were watching hungrily. She’d never really explored an aroused male before; in her few sexual encounters she had never felt the need for this, the need to touch, to explore, to learn. But she wanted this, wanted it as much as she wanted him to touch her in the same way.

“Yes,” he said again, fervently, as her fingers instinctively curled around him. She felt a growing, spreading heat go through her in a wave, driven by her wonder at the heat and thickness of him. She thought of what was to come, and her fingers clenched around him slightly at the image of this hot male flesh filling that hollow place inside her, that place she’d been unaware of until this man set it on fire.

His breath hissed out of him again when her grasp tightened. Encouraged by his response, she stroked his hard length, varying the pressure until she heard him groan once more. She felt him shudder. It seemed to ripple upward through him from beneath her fingers, until his hands moved convulsively, flexing on her breasts, sending an answering ripple of sensation through her.

She moved, helplessly, pressing her breasts against his palms, wanting him to begin that caress of her nipples again so badly she didn’t care if she was silently begging for it. As if he’d understood, his thumbs moved, flicking over the tight crests, making her cry out at the sudden flare of pleasure.

“Just don’t . . . stop.” His voice was thick, hoarse. “God, Kendall, don’t stop.”

She didn’t. She couldn’t. She wanted to know every hot, aroused inch of him. She continued to stroke him, to caress him as she shivered at the idea of taking him inside her. Jason’s mouth came down on hers again, urgently, demandingly, and she surrendered the depths of hers to his probing tongue willingly. And when he withdrew, she followed, unable to resist the lure, and surprised at the sensual delight she found in tasting him so deeply. And she found it amazingly arousing to be teasing his tongue with hers while her hand still stroked the hard, impossibly smooth contours of his flesh, wringing low sounds of pleasure from him.

When he at last broke the kiss, she was breathing in pants, quick and shallow, but unable to slow them. Then he moved, lowering his head, without warning taking one of her achingly aroused nipples into his mouth and suckling deeply, suddenly.

Her entire body seemed to ripple, and she cried out in shock and astonishment. Her back arched, thrusting her breasts upward, as if offering them. He took the gift without question, his lips holding a nipple while his tongue flicked at it, his fingers catching her other nipple and tugging at it, squeezing with just enough pressure to make her cry out again.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, her hands coming up to his shoulders, her fingers digging in as her body rippled once more.

Jason lifted his head to look at her. His eyes were burning hotter than she’d ever seen them, and his breath was coming as quickly as her own. Without a word, his hands went to her waist, to yank at the fastening of her jeans. He tugged them down and away, sweeping her panties along with them.

For a moment he just stood there, staring at her, so intensely she was gripped by a tremor of shyness at standing naked before him when he was still half dressed. But then he spoke, and the shyness faded.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said softly, reverently. “I knew, but . . .”

He trailed off, shaking his head slowly, as if he was feeling the same kind of wonder she had felt when she’d first freed his naked arousal from his jeans. His tone filled her with a quiet pleasure, as did the sight of the shiver that tightened his belly as he reached for her.

His hands slid back up her legs to the top of her thighs, and then she felt him touching her, probing, as if testing. She supposed she should have felt violated by the sudden, intimate incursion, but how could she when his seeking fingers found her hot and wet and ready? She felt as if she’d been that way forever, for this man.

And as his finger found and caressed a tiny knot of nerve endings that nearly made her scream, she knew that the shortness of their time together meant nothing. Nothing at all, not before the tide of emotion and feeling and sensation that swelled between them.

“No more waiting,” he said, his voice rough and tight. And tinged with relief, she realized dimly through the haze of pleasure he was building with that tiny, circling caress. A relief that told her that even now he would have waited, if she hadn’t been ready.

But she was. God, she was. She wanted him, wanted everything with him, in a way she’d never even imagined. She wanted him naked along with her, wanted to see his rangy, muscled body, all of it, wanted to know him more intimately than anyone ever had, and more than anything she wanted him to want her to know him.

“Jason,” she whispered, unable to say anything more.

But he looked at her as if she’d said it all, and with a strangled sound of urgency, he peeled off the rest of his clothes. For a moment that was far too brief for her he stood beside her, and she drank in the sight of him, naked, tall and lean, solid-chested and flat-bellied, the aroused flesh she’d been exploring so avidly jutting out from the tangle of thick, dark curls that surrounded it.

Then, with a swiftness that left her reeling, he swept her up in his arms and went down with her to the bed, his hands sliding over her, his mouth laying down a path of kisses that left a fiery trail along her skin. In moments she was moaning, writhing beneath him in her need to get closer.

“You want it?”

His voice came low and rough in her ear, barely above a whisper, but he was so close she could feel the hot rush of his breath on that ultra- sensitive skin, making her heart hammer as it blazed anew along nerves that were alive as they had never been.

“I want you,” she said, not caring that there was a difference, or how foolish she was no doubt being for ignoring that difference.

He drew back from her, and for a moment she was afraid he was going to explain the difference to her. But he only reached for one of the foil packets that lay tossed behind him on the bed. She watched as he opened it and began to sheath himself, yet another thing she’d never cared to watch before. But now, with Jason, it had become one of the most erotic, sensual things she’d ever seen.

When he glanced up and saw her eyes on him, something bright and hot flared in his eyes. And then he was moving swiftly, finishing with the condom and coming back to her. She reached for him and he came down on top of her. She welcomed his weight, his heat, and the sheer force of his need. His head bent to her breasts once more, and she welcomed with a joyous cry the hot, wet caress of his mouth as he took first one nipple, then the other, raking them gently with his teeth, flicking them with his tongue, and then sucking them long and hard and deep until her body undulated in hot, eager response.

He kept on, until her moans were coming quickly, blending together in one continuous sound of wondrous pleasure. It was suddenly too much, the vision of his dark head at her breast, his mouth on her body, and the incredible sensations that were stabbing through her. Her head lolled back, her eyes closing.

She felt him move, felt him nudge her legs apart. Her breath caught in anticipation, and she stifled a quiver of apprehension. My God, what was she doing? She barely knew this man.

Don’t I know you, Kendall Chase? Everything that matters?

His words came back to her vividly. Perhaps he did. And perhaps she did, too, knew everything that mattered. Like that he was the only man who had ever made her feel so much, want so much, need so much.

You ever find the one who sets you on fire . . .

Her eyes came open then, as Aaron’s words rang in her head.
Your son,
she thought, a little wildly.
God, Aaron, did you know it would be your son?

And then Jason was moving, lowering himself, and she felt the blunt prod of his body as he probed for entry. She felt a sudden cramping, as if her own body was already grasping for him, as if it somehow knew that aching hollowness would soon be filled.

Lifting himself above her slightly, Jason moved a hand down between them, sliding it over her body, making the movement a caress in itself as he reached to guide himself home. He tilted his head, to shift his gaze downward between their bodies, and Kendall looked at the thick, dark silk of his hair, tousled now by her hands. Then she followed the direction of his gaze and felt a sudden jolt of scorching sensation when she saw his rigid flesh delving forward between her thighs.

She felt him start to slide into her, knew how truly ready she was by the easy glide of his flesh over hers, and she shivered with the thrill of the contact. Then she realized he, too, was still looking downward, watching as he entered her, and wondered if it was making him as crazy as it was her.

And then she had her answer; with a low, gruff sound of surrender, Jason moved again, driving forward, burying himself to the hilt, wringing a cry of shock from her. God, she’d been wrong, she couldn’t take him, it was too much, it had been too long . . .

Jason froze, holding himself there above her, his face a mask of tension and need and forced restraint.

“Kendall?”

“I . . . give me a moment, I . . .” She needed that moment, to adjust, for her body to accept the fact that this time it wasn’t being denied, that the aching hollowness was indeed filled to bursting. “It’s been . . . a very long time,” she said, a little shakily.

“I can tell that.” His voice was harsh, matching the strained look on his face and the beads of sweat that had broken out on his forehead.

The shock of his sudden invasion began to ebb, leaving her only with a wonderful awareness of his presence, and a need to intensify that awareness. She shifted slightly, just enough so that she could feel how deeply he was inside her. A shudder swept her and she looked up at him, not even trying to hide the wonder and pleasure and need she was feeling.

His expression changed, became one of desire barely leashed. “Damn,” he said, his voice a rough, frayed thing, “I hope to God you’re in a hurry.”

“Yes,” she said, sounding more than a little breathless. “Oh, yes, please, hurry.”

She punctuated her plea with an urgent upward thrust of her hips, and had the satisfaction of hearing him try to choke back a cry as his head went back and his body bowed forward, grinding his hips against hers.